Starry Night
by Kira-Akabane
Summary: (I'm a huge van Gogh fan but the BBC got there first before I could do a DW fanfic about him, but here it is anyway. NON CANON) In 1891 something very odd has happened; Vincent van Gogh is still alive a year after the day he should have died and it's up to The Doctor to set it right. But can he really bring himself to convince a man to take his own life just for the sake of history
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

In the town of Arles in southern France a raggedy redheaded man sat at his easel with brush in hand as he stared out into the distance. His china blue eyes seemed to be glazed over as he just sat and looked, picturing only what he could picture, seeing what only he could see.

The dishevelled man finally moved, making a sweeping movement with his hand across the canvas. _The light_ he thought to himself as he repeatedly glanced up from his work at the landscape before him. _The movement, the shadow, the way it falls. Oh to capture it in a frame, I must indeed be as mad as they say_ he thought as he chuckled to himself.

Roughly halfway through the painting the man quickly looked up once again. Upon bringing his gaze back down to the canvas he realised what he had seen. He quickly stood up.

"Dear Lord," he whispered to himself. "How?"

Standing there, in the very spot he had only looked at seconds previously, was a man in a long trench coat, overshadowed by a big blue box. The artist watched as the man walked steadily towards him. He did not run or hide. He felt as though the stranger had come in peace, so he watched as he got closer until he was eventually stood by his side.

"Vincent? Vincent van Gogh?" said the stranger.

"Yes that's me," he replied. "What may I do for you?"

"Well, that's the thing isn't it? First of all could you tell me what year it is?"

"Well it's 1891 of course." Replied van Gogh.

"Of course. How silly of me. I'm The Doctor by the way," said the suited man, holding out a hand. "Vincent, we've got some work to do."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The Doctor flung open the doors of the TARDIS and walked right in, followed closely by Vincent who stood next to the console and looked around. The Doctor waited for the line he had heard so many times before but it never came.

"So, any comment, Vincent? It is bigger on the inside after all."

"Yes I know." he replied.

"Well ok then," said The Doctor looking surprised. "I Thought it would be a little more surprising than that but never mind."

"Why would I be surprised that a box is bigger on the inside when I can look up at the sky on any given night and know that in the smallest patch of darkness there are more worlds than man will ever visit?" explained Vincent in his soft tone. "There is more wonder in the universe that anyone can imagine, Doctor."

"Oh believe me I know," replied The Doctor, moving round the console as he pressed buttons and flicked switches. "Vincent?"

"Yes my friend?"

"This box, the TARDIS, it can travel anywhere in space and time. It can go wherever we want it too. Any place in the universe at any point in history."

"Can it really? How extraordinary. We could go anywhere my dear Doctor. We could see the stars themselves!"

"I didn't come to take you with me though," he started to explain hardly able to look the artist in the eye. "I came to show you something." Vincent looked perplexed. He watched as The Doctor made his way to the doors. "Step outside with me, Vincent."

The painter made his way to the doors, allowing The Doctor to open them and lead him out. They had materialised in a little inlet in a corridor. The Doctor led the way down the immaculate corridor and approached the dark brown double doors at the end.

Walking in to the room Vincent could see that it was an auction room. There were chairs in lines on the floor facing towards a lectern where the auctioneer was standing and an easel which was covered by a dark green cloth. The Doctor saw the confusion on his face and quickly answered the questions he knew he must be thinking. "It's 1998. We're in New York."

"1998? Dear lord," exclaimed Vincent. "I never thought…"

The artist was interrupted by the auctioneer signalling the start of the proceedings. "Our first lot is a self-portrait by one of the finest artists to ever live. I am of course talking about Vincent van Gogh, who tragically died during the war but left behind some of the greatest works known to man." The green cloth was whipped off and the painting was revealed to the audience. Vincent's heart skipped a beat.

"You recognise it?" whispered The Doctor.

"I painted it a couple of years back. It's in my attic as we speak."

"Well, unless that's a fake I doubt it."

"This can't be real though can it? No one buys my work. I've sold one painting my entire life. The only reason I carry on is because it's the only thing I'm remotely good at."

The auctioneer once again broke up the muttering amongst the crowd that had been inspecting the painting from their chairs. "We'll start the auction at fifty million dollars. Do I have any bids?"

As hands shot up from the crowd the two men stood and watched. The price began to rise higher and higher and with each passing bid the look of wonderment on Vincent's face intensified. He allowed himself a small smile and caught the tear on his cheek as the price reached seventy million.

"Let's go." said The Doctor, turning back and heading back out the way they came. Vincent lingered for a few seconds and then followed suit.

"Doctor!" shouted Vincent as he trailed in his wake. "Why did you show me this? Why did you bring me here?"

"Vincent, did you hear what he said in there? You die. In the 20th century. In the first world war."

"First?"

"History isn't supposed to be this way," he continued, talking faster and looking sterner like he always does when he's worried. "Something is changing it and I don't know what it is but it can't happen. Time isn't something to be messed with. I should know."

The Doctor turned and quickened his pace back to the TARDIS with Vincent following once more. In that moment when The Doctor had looked him in the eyes he had seen more than in the rest of the short time he'd know him. Suddenly he felt as though he really knew the strange man that he had met that very same day.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

As the TARDIS whirled through space, Vincent sat with his feet dangling off the edge of the floor that surrounded the centre console while the Doctor walked around calmly as though putting something off.

"Doctor?" asked Vincent. "Do you ever think about it?"

"About what?" answered the Time Lord, too busy looking at the centre console and thinking to even look at the artist.

"About whatever you did all that time ago."

The Doctor immediately turned his head. Although Vincent had his back to him he knew that this had grabbed his attention. "How did you?"

"Your eyes, my dear Doctor," said Vincent as the Time Lord came and sat down beside him. "You can tell a lot from someone's eyes. They say that the eyes are the window to the soul and your soul my dear dear friend, is tortured and torn. Whatever you did in the past still haunts you. The fear, the regret, the anguish, it's all still as fresh as the day that it happened. You can try to hide it but your eyes will always tell the story of every battle you ever fought."

The Doctor felt a single hot tear streak down his face as he listened to the artist's words and recalled memories that he had locked away and vowed never to remember again; the memories of the Time War. After that final day and what he had done he had locked all of the terrifying and haunting demons in his head, but that didn't stop them from tearing him to pieces every single day. Memories of children playing in the orange fields of his home planet, the first day of the war, the attack on Gallifrey's second city, the number of bodies lying dead and still on the once beautiful streets of his home and his final act of mercy which lead to the deaths of every living thing on the planet. A million images raced through his mind almost making him almost lose control.

"Maybe you're right Vincent," he said at last. "These eyes are almost a thousand years old and they have seen more than anyone would want to see. I've done things that make me a hero to entire galaxies and I have saved so many people, but none of that matters when done with the hands that have murdered billions. Women, children; no one was spared that day. On that day I broke the promise I made all those years ago. I was no longer faith and hope and strength. I was no longer The Doctor. I was fear and rage and darkness and death. And that's what I am today."

"No you're not. I tend to think of myself as a good judge of character, Doctor, and you are no murderer. Although there is great pain in your eyes there is also hope and optimism. Obviously you made a choice and you are now paying for that choice. But what was the alternative?"

The Doctor simply turned his head and looked at the painter who looked directly back at him. After what seemed like an eternity the two men slowly got to their feet. The Time Lord had always admired Vincent from what he had heard of him but meeting him in person had taken it further. He could see the legendary painter wasn't just a great artist but also an altogether great human being. There was something eerie but also beautiful about how he saw the world and also people. It was as though things were simply paintings on a canvas to him while at the same time he could see the beauty and the wonder in something as simple as a rain drop. For the first time in The Doctor's memory he found himself wishing that he had a mind that worked as Vincent's did.

The TARDIS landed. As the two men stepped outside Vincent knew where he was instantly. "Arles! I'm home."

"Vincent," said The Doctor. "We need to establish where exactly in your timeline you went off track."

"What do you mean?"

"Something happened in your life that caused you to do something totally at odds to what history has said you did. We need to figure out why and when this happened. Tell me about the past few years."

"Well as you've probably noticed I am missing my ear," he said tilting his head slightly. "That was a dark time for me. I admitted myself to Saint Remy asylum after that and I was there for around a year with my doctor. After that I moved to be closer to him in Auvers-sur-Oise, but that didn't work out so I came and moved back to Arles."

"No no no, that history is wrong. You shouldn't have moved back to Arles. You never moved back to Arles," The Doctor said to himself loudly so Vincent could hear as he ruffled his hair and paced before finally turning. "What day?"

"What?"

"What day, Vincent? What day did you move back here?"

"Errm 27th July 1890 I think."

The gravity of the situation suddenly hit and The Doctor's energy was gone straight away. "What is it, Doctor? Is that important?"

The forlorn Time Lord looked into the eyes of one of the greatest men to ever walk the Earth and knew that as the artist looked back he'd be able to see the fear and the pain that he was now feeling. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I'm so sorry."


End file.
